


The Dying Knight

by L_C_Weary



Series: ICoS Rarepair Fest [1]
Category: In the Company of Shadows - Sonny & Ais
Genre: Angst, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-09-19 16:39:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17005263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_C_Weary/pseuds/L_C_Weary
Summary: Jeffrey Styles made the conscious decision to die, when he removed his Knight tattoo. He just wanted to see Owen once more.





	The Dying Knight

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. So, now, let's try an almost dead fandom with a rare-pair. It's my first step to fame, I can feel it. But we need more Jeffrey/Owen (or as I like to call it Jowen) stuff. Please, enjoy.
> 
> Not first language. No beta. You can figure the rest.

The sound of the alarm made all of them jump. It was design to be deafening, to make everybody's blood pressure crazy in a millisecond. The voice itself was similar to a siren, harsh and unforgiving, much more intimidating than an artificial voice was allowed to be.

In the room the three people exchanged looks, determined looks, and one of them shut the alarm down. They all turned to the monitor that was put up at the emptiest of the walls. The screen was transmitting footage of the cameras stationed at the border of their base. The life feed was usually just about the fields surrounding the nest, only wind moving the plants. What they looked at was still calm, disturbingly so, considering the alarm, expect for one lonely figure that moved at the far end of the farm that functioned as their hiding place.

The reaction of the trio differed from person to person. Bill Harrow, the bulky, shaved, surgeon turned Guild bodyguard, or the closest thing they got to a fighter, was bringing his usual paranoid self, which, at this point, was not a sign of nervousness, just his sign of existence as a human being. He was squinting at the large screen and automatically reached for his gun, feeling it to make himself sure he could use it.

Amanda Wu, the mechanic of their team was practical as ever. She controlled the screen, so she tried to zoom on the figure, but the picture helped very little. It remained greasy, the figure was still tiny. She pursed her plump lips in dissatisfaction.

"He looks weird," observed the third person, borderline cheerfully, not helping much. He was Owen O'Connell, the linguistic genius of the Guild or the former so called Captain, nowadays, running as a dead person. Just usual Journalist Guild things. "He…," he trailed off, leaning in to be closer to the screen. The person was approaching slowly, cautiously maybe, but more in a suspiciously dragged out process.

"He looks injured," said Bill, voice hoarse, thanks to the fact he didn't use it in the last 36 hours, since he arrived to Amanda's and Owen's place. "He's dragging his left side," he pointed it out. "Look, there, he can't even keep his head up," he explained. "He plays the victim," the ever optimistic murmured with anger. The body _marching_ towards them suddenly got stuck in the waist height crops and fell face first down to the ground.

"Would you say we may need to reconsider the _plays_ part, pal?" suggested Owen with an innocent face. "Got something on him, my fierce robot-lady?" he turned to Amanda, the only one tolerating his nicknaming habit. It was luxuriating as he could not make them for himself anymore or not in the near future. "Or should we start the deletion?" he asked.

"If he stands up and gets a bit closer, I can run the face recognition," she informed them. "Until then, we should wait." She ignored the sound that left Bill’s mouth with ease and experience. "There’s a possibility he's just lost. And this place is valuable as a nest I would not like to leave it behind. Give it a few minutes." Bill was not fond of this answer, surprising no one.

"I'll send the tape to Liv and the others, just in case." Bill said, unimpressed with the turn of events. "You’ve got seven minutes at most," he pointed at Amanda. She nodded, understanding, she was not a person of useless arguments.

Owen, acknowledging the at least seven minutes of waiting time turned back to his laptop. He tried to refocus on his work, translating from Ukrainian to Spanish about some drug issue the secret polices shared at both countries. Well, it couldn't exactly be the secret police but someone's friend or acquaintance at some secret organisation, someone Bell trusted, otherwise it wouldn't have gotten to them as _very urgent, do it now_.

"I got him," Amanda announced loudly. Bill turned to look at the screen and Owen spun his chair around too forcefully, so he spun almost three circles but did not ended up facing the screen. "Man, thirties, I would say," she started, eyes fixated on her PC's screen. "He's-," she cut herself off, which was a rather surprising occurrence.

"He's what?" barked Bill, impatience growing. Amanda's greenish-amber eyes flickered to Owen, cautious and calculating. Owen raised an eyebrow the moment he got over dizziness of spinning and could turn the right direction.

"He is in the old Agency's catalogue," she said, voice emotionless. Owen's heart started pumping at a higher volume. Whenever someone from the Agency got close to them, usually it was a very bad sign and wishful thinking from his part, rarely someone he knew or he could help to disappear from under the radar. No one he trusted or trusted him, no one he could be useful to.

"Who?" he asked eagerly, almost missing how Bill frowned. He ignored that it was most likely bad news again, there still was a chance it was someone he knew, a good man who survived.

"Styles, Jeffrey." The world, for one wonderful second, stopped moving. It was Jeffrey. He was there and he was still on his two feet. Not at that moment, he fell again, sure, but they just needed to help him.

"He's my Knight informer," he said quickly, jumping out of his chair, ignoring his protesting numb limbs. He didn't even reached the door before Bill got a hand on his arm. They stared at each other for seconds, Owen wanted to convince the other man with his gaze alone. He had no other reason to just run out, but the fact it was Jeffrey and he knew him. He was his friend. He needed to get to him. He was injured, he needed help.

"It could be dangerous," Amanda said carefully. Owen wanted to roll his eyes. He was more than aware nowadays, what it meant to be a Knight, he did enough research to be able to help Jeffrey with more than a late promise of companionship, and now the opportunity was given. He had to get to him.

"If he is out here with order it's more than too late. Get your stuff and run. If he's not, then we need to run before they found him here. It just a matter of _me_ returning or not," he said cheerfully. He knew he had a good chance of getting shot before he even had the chance to say _ahoy_ to Jeffrey and it didn't made him scared in the slightest. Some things were just easier to handle with an optimistic attitude. Owen worked hard to convince himself everything was better if at least you tried to convince your inner, practical and realistic self about the existence of the sunny side of the situation.

"It's very fucking dangerous, O'Connell," Bill hissed, like the Knights were already listening to them.

"Don't worry about me, Billy Boy. I'll get emotional," he smiled wide and it worked, Bill let him go with a grunt. "I know him. He was- is, my friend," he looked to Amanda, making sure she understood it.

"You have 10 minutes to get back." Her gaze was harsh. "We'll leave you here, both of you," she said and Owen had no question they wouldn't hesitate. He nodded, in that regard the Guild wasn't much different from the Agency. JG didn't do human experiments or dictatorship and lacked the whole inhuman atmosphere, but when it came to paranoia or harsh decisions they shared features. "Take you comm unit," she said at last.

The outside was, most of all, lighter than what his eyes got used to in the last six weeks. His eyes were hurting, he almost immediately started to sweat ans his legs were jelly-like after sitting for days, kind of non-stop. He started walking towards where he thought Jeffrey had to be. When it was necessary Amanda direct him, with strict voice and as he felt like the sun was hotter than he could take it and everything was biting his skin through his worn clothes too, he got visual on Jeffrey.

It was not the _great weight leaving his heart_ reunion. He, in his life, saw a lot of ugly injuries, from open chests to rotting leg, while people screamed in agony, begging to be put out of misery. He was not more comfortable looking at what he could see on Jeffrey's back. The man was kneeling, hands on the ground, breath loud and accompanied with a high pitched whistle, body trembling with shivers. He looked ruined, sweat running down his arms and the side of his face. Owen took another look at his back before he stepped closer.

Jeffrey's back was flayed. It was clear why, it was not just the skin, at places muscles and flesh too, there were small tubes which indicated where the Knights' playthings were inserted. Owen consciously ignored how it meant his spinal cord was also damaged at places. Jeffrey was in just a pair of jeans, a shirt in hand but it was clear why was not wearing it. Owen's optimism wanted to fade. An unpleasant feeling started clawing in his stomach. It was not an infected shot injury. It was not something easily handled.

"Jeffrey," he crouched, voice barely about a whisper. The man in front of him froze at his voice. He looked up, hands barely keeping him from falling into the dirt. His chocolate brown eyes were foggy and without real focus. Owen smiled, encouraging him for the things yet to come. They needed to get back to the nest to get actual help. Jeffrey laughed and it was an awful sound. It was a whistling sound lacking air. His lips were dry, his cheeks only coloured by redness, unnatural redness.

"Yeah," Jeffrey started, wheezing. "I know, it's only a few miles left," he looked at him, eyes pleading, asking Owen to stop, to stop something. Owen fought the urge to just touch him. It seemed too harsh to act by it. Jeffrey started to stand up, gathering his strength to push himself upwards. "At least you stopped haunting me with a glass of water, asshole," he said almost amused. The dawning realisation hit Owen.

"Jeff, mate, I'm here," he said, reaching out to put his hand over Jeffrey's on the ground as he needed support to get up. The other man froze and rather comically fell back to his knees, breathing getting even more out of rhythm. His face was pale, so pale, Owen was never this pale, even though he was pale for being a ginger too. Jeffrey's eyes widened in shock and the inability to comprehend.

"I understand what happened," Owen squeezed the hand he was clutching. He mostly got it, he did understand the part that was necessary. Jeffrey was cast out and he got his fair share of punishment. Jeffrey's skin was slippery with sweat, as he felt it under his fingers. "I'm here to help. You'll be alright." It was not a false promise, he was going to die there under the sun before he let Jeffrey down again. The other man was still dazed, he looked back to the where Owen hand's was covering his, his very bony hand. God, Jeffrey looked awful, thought Owen, the unpleasant feeling in his stomach growing, weighting down his whole body, put pressure on his lungs and squeezed his heart.

"I- Found your base. I made sure-," Jeffrey started talking, voice breaking between syllables. "I tried, I swear." He looked pleading again, hand turning to the sky and clutching Owen's. "I think no one's following me, but I'm not-," he smiled, a tear of exhausting ran down his face. Owen hated to even acknowledge the dooming signs. "I'm not in the best shape, you see," he said voice almost soft, so uncharacteristically soft, it made Owen reconsider the not-much-touching rule. He wanted to hug him, even though it was the silliest idea he could have had. "I'm so sorry- I had no other place- Nowhere I could have-," and he couldn't finish it, coughing. He was dehydrated, that was the problem, for sure.

"It will be alright," he repeated. "We need to get back to the house," he said eyes searching Jeffrey's, to make sure he could comprehend him. "My friends are waiting for us, they're going to take you to a professional and we're going to make it go away," he said, talking about the pain.

Owen seen a lot of injuries in his life, yet looking into Jeffrey's eyes, grateful and joyful eyes, he didn't even think about what he knew from experience. It was not important, it was just a minor detail. A minor detail how Jeffrey's body wouldn't last. Not with the technology the Guild had.

Jeffrey was going to die. Owen needed to accept that, for his body to be able to move and defy what his mind was telling him. He needed to make himself angry and stupid, so he wouldn't give up, wouldn't act weak.

"Okay, you need to-" he started to gather Jeffrey from the ground. "Amanda," Owen touched the chip in his ear. "Amanda," he puffed, straining every muscle he never used, bent in half to help Jeffrey move. 

"Sorry, yes?" Amanda answered, voice hurried.

"I found him. He is-" Well past the saving part. "In bad shape. Do you know how the Knights make sure to follow everyone?" Amanda hummed. "He took his _technical_ tattoo out. I'm not sure how." He was desperate to move, but Jeffrey could only make one step every three seconds.

"Jesus," Amanda's voice trembled. "Owen, that's-"

"Tell it to Bill, he'll know more and call the centre to set up a system," he demanded. Even he had no idea what kind of system he wanted for Jeffrey.

"Owen, I don't think that's poss-"

"Do it," he said voice harsher than probably anyone ever heard him. He knew what Amanda wanted to say and he wanted nothing more than not to be reminded of that. The physical exercise of carrying himself and Jeffrey too under the scorching hot sun was already too much.

"Alright. We'll wait for you," Amanda stopped fighting. "No sign of others, so it's might be safe," she said. It was good news. It would have been good news if they would have been short on time because of enemies chasing them. "We can get a bit closer with the car," Amanda said. "If you can get up to the well, we'll get there in five minutes," she said.

"Good, we'll be there," he said, confident as ever. They were not going to make it in five minutes. For a healthy man it would have been just half a minute, to get to the abandoned well, but it was uphill and Jeffrey had no energy left. "Come on, we have a promenade to take," he said to Jeffrey.

"Thanks," Jeffrey said softly, whispering, as Owen put him on his feet again.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said, turning to face Jeffrey, to be able to support him under his arms. It looked weird like Jeffrey was a big baby and Owen was the uncle observing him from bit of a distance and it was hard to hold him without touching his sensitive back. Owen tried to pull Jeffrey up the hill in this position.

Owen looked under his feet sometimes, because if they tripped, Jeffrey's pain would be unimaginable. "It's the least I can do," he smiled trying to cheer him up. "When I'm going to bake you my sparkling cookies. Now, that's when you’re going to be so grateful you'll want to get me a Mars," he rambled to create some kind of distraction.

Jeffrey smiled, eyes fluttering. " _A_ Mars," he quotes without much thought. "Since when do you bake?"

"Since I'm spending months alone with my thought, wondering about the origins of the yeti and how one day I'll wake up and will know no language but something that no one understands anymore," he shared his nightmare with good confidence. It was going to help, for sure.

"How inconvenient," Jeffrey said without voice, maybe talking about the loss of language. "Owen?" he asked after some time, when they were easily at one third of the road. It was the greatest challenge of Owen's body, drenched in sweat and Jeffrey's blood dripping down his bare arm from the ex-Knight's back.

In the distance, Owen heard the giant metal doors of the nest closing. For once he was glad, Amanda never learned to be subtle in anything.

"Yeah?" he asked without breath, oxygen not filling his lungs under Jeffrey's weight. He was already concentrating on how to get his friends' attention.

"I'm not going to make it," Jeffrey said and fell from Owen's hands to the ground. Almost. Owen without thinking grabbed his arms but their was skin damp, so Jeffrey slipped out of his grip. Jeffrey screamed out in agony, the scream filling Owen's ears, his whole soul, the fields, probably the entire world. Owen's heart was hammering on his chest, demanding to be let out.

"I'm sorry," he crouched in front of Jeffrey. "I'm so sorry," he said, his voice breaking, throat filling with tears. Jeffrey shook his head, hands barely supporting him.

"It's alright-," Jeffrey tried as he leaned on Owen's chest. "It doesn't matter," the last ounce of energy left him, his weight pushing against Owen. "I thought-," he closed his eyes to gather energy, breathing once and twice. Owen heard the ignition of their truck. "I thought I could get- I thought I was going to make it." He open his eyes and he looked like someone at peace.

"Jeff," he said with intent, a horde of emotions eating him from the inside.

"'S alright," he turned his face towards the sun. "It's not your fault," he said voice lost at the end.

Owen took Jeffrey's face between his hands, careful not to even graze the injured parts of his back and shoulder. He heard the car park behind them, then approaching footsteps.

"The people, who're going to get us to a doctor are Amanda and Bill," he explained to Jeffrey, as his fingers looked for his pulse on his neck, just to be sure. 

There was faint smile on Jeffrey's lips, his eyes were closed.

"They're my friends, working for the Guild. They have already heard about you," he talked about god knows what. He heard his mother do it, so perfectly, she always made her patients calm, put everyone at ease but Owen was always useless at that, especially with Jeffrey.

Owen heard his friends and their choked breath as they cast a glance at Jeffrey and his back.

"Help me," commanded Owen just for the sake of saying something. Turning, he saw the faces of Amanda and Bill, saw the expression he knew he wore upon seeing the injured Jeffrey. Those looks betrayed everything, showing what all of them knew. He could read what they saw, that it was beyond what a human could endure, that is was so awful no one should've been put through it, just by looking at Jeffrey. "Please," he asked, desperately. Jeffrey almost moved to that.

"Maybe I can stand up," Jeffrey offered, not opening his eyes anymore.

"We-," Bill's voice was heavy with shock but he moved professionally, "We should lay him on his stomach at the back seat," he suggested, gathering the other side of Jeffrey, not occupied by Owen. They dragged him, like a rag doll, Jeffrey was using his legs just to push himself upwards. Together they worked better, navigating with Amanda, it wasn't so hard.

"I can travel with him at the back," Owen volunteered. Bill nodded, too silent even for him. Owen wasn't going to considerate it. It was not fucking happening. "I'll keep an eye on you, buddy," he said to Jeffrey, also getting in the car. Bill gave Owen a bottle of water and a straw and before they started the truck, he made sure Jeffrey didn't pass out from the lack of water. Neither Amanda nor Bill said anything more, just got inside and they started the car. Owen ignored them and their silence, sitting at the floor of the car, stubbornly not caring about facts.

He did keep an eye on Jeffrey, obsessively so, heart clenching as he watched if Jeffrey was still breathing or not, which was also a source of pain for him at the moment. It was already a miracle he could move and function properly. 

If he was honest with himself, he knew Jeffrey was nowhere near functioning properly. Owen hated his only thought was not about curing Jeffrey, but about giving Jeffrey the hope he deserved in his dying moments. Owen often acted like an idealist and he always wanted to be one so bad, but it wasn't working. He already knew what Jeffrey's fate was going to bring.

During the trip, which took forever, Bill rang Liv, who was stationed at that base. Owen ignored the frustrated call that lacked any hope. Who cared what they, the professionals at the other side of the line, had to say about the situation?

Owen never been to the base but when he heard the small stones screeching under the tires and felt the car slowly stop, he knew that was the last peaceful moment by Jeffrey's side. The family house they arrived to, was a temporary base, the team was already moving out, someone, the Agency, the Dhi Zi or maybe the Knights, learned the location of that place. They wanted to leave that afternoon, except for the fact that Owen brought a friend.

Getting Jeffrey out the car was harder, than putting him inside. He was unconscious by the time Dr. Grünberg and her team took the first look at him, only making a move because of Owen and his harsh looks. He didn't let them act like it was a lost cause. No one talked, really, no one knew what to say.

The got Jeffrey inside the house in no more than 20 minutes. Blood was oozing from his body from multiple places, dirt and sweat covering him where his skin was still intact. He looked dead, he looked like a corpse. Owen had trouble breathing.

Jeffrey was escorted to the medical room of the house, which was cleared mostly, they just left a bed inside and the machines they needed to keep Jeffrey alive. Grünberg sent Owen out, ignoring his experience on the medical field, referring to his involvement with Jeffrey.

Owen deep inside was relieved that he didn't have to see the things they had to do to Jeffrey, but he could've easily ignored his fears. He could've just helped. He sat in the empty kitchen, eyes closed, hands on his ears, heart rhythmically beating to the sound of Jeffrey screaming for almost half an hour. No other noise was heard. Owen felt like he was going mad, he couldn't mute anything.

Amanda gave him tea later, to calm his nerves and clear his head, as she said, over the agonising shouts and cries of his friend. Owen smile was faint and dishonest. 

"Grünberg says," she started and Owen closed his eyes, "he only has a small chance of surviving." Her voice was matter of fact. Owen kept his hand on the hot mug, until it burned his skin too much. He still had Jeffrey's blood on his hand. Owen didn't felt like deserving to be clean of it.

Amanda sat down with determination of a person trying to explain how Owen's friend was going to die. She was not a person of white lies. That was her strong point, being accurate and realistic. That was why people liked her. That was why Owen felt like crying.

"She'll do whatever she can and but if he's not strong enough to be transported to the main lab, he won't-" the screaming, abruptly, stopped. Owen's head snapped up at such silence. "He won't make it," Amanda whispered in the voiceless kitchen.

Owen got up and, leaving Amanda behind, ran to the medical room. Grünberg was just stepping out when he wanted to burst in. She stood in the entrance, blocking the view, while her team left the room.

"He is stable at the moment," she said to Owen, yet her face was ruled by dissatisfaction. "Owen, we need to move," she said. He wasn't sure how the woman knew his name. "We need to leave in the evening and he won't survive the road."

The small hope he gathered left him. There was no way this is how this story ended. He wanted to defy Grünberg and her prediction. He wanted to know better for once.

"Owen, he can't do it, not even with your help," her voice was soft, reassuring. "We can't take the machines with us and without them, he won't survive. He'll die during the travel, in unnecessary pain." Owen heard the unsaid question, but he couldn't answer. "He's on morphine right now. It would be the most humanitarian to ask him what he wants." Owen hated how that sounded.

Owen nodded, hands trembling, trying to gather courage. He was going to do it because Jeffrey deserved honesty, because he was a fucking hero, who deserved to be given a choice, from someone who was at least remotely his friend.

"Okay," he said voice quiet and broken, after what felt like minutes, when he felt confident enough he wouldn't broke out in tears. "If," he tried, failing. "How do I stop the machines?" Grünberg took a deep breath.

"The biggest machine, under the heart monitor. It has a switch, basically the on and off. It's red, you'll find it," she said and patted Owen on the shoulder, before leaving him alone on the doorstep.

In that moment he needed to accept the whole thing. It was the end from his part. It was all up to Jeffrey now.

The medical room was filled with beeping, harsh breathing and the smell of sterilizer. It was highly disturbing. Jeffrey was at the middle, in a high bed, more of a cart, like it was already a coffin, just a weird version, machines surrounding him like the grieving crowd. The man did not look up the sound. He was likely asleep. Or unconscious or something. Maybe Owen would never talk to him again.

He walked closer as quiet as he could and knelt down on the floor next to Jeffrey, where he could look at his unruly mess of hair. It was hilarious how Jeffrey's whole back was missing while Owen could only look at how his hair was so much different than what he got used too. He still kept the image of immaculate Jeffrey in his mind, with his shirts and slicked back hair and his unimpressed grimace.

He raised his hand then with an unconscious movement, he ran his finger through Jeffrey's locks. The other man hummed in response, Owen was not sure if he was understanding what was happening but he seemed content, so he kept combing his brown sweating, muddy locks. Jeffrey shivered but did not move otherwise. Owen looked at the heart monitor, which was still beeping, not with much effort, but still. He located the red switch, just in case. He needed time. He still needed time to thanks Jeffrey everything he did for them.

"How… much?" Jeffrey turned his head to Owen's direction, slowly getting his locks out of Owen's soft grip. Owen couldn't say a word. "I'm fine with it, I know this is how it goes, I'm okay. Just- How much do I have left?" he asked with one great breathe, voice muffled by his own arms that he put under his head.

Owen refused to answer. He didn't know the answer and he never wanted to say what he could gather. He reached out again, to push the lock out of Jeffrey's face and the ex-Knight's eyes fluttered shut to the affection.

"I'm sorry," Owen said softly. Jeffrey's eyes open with urgency, misunderstanding him, and one hand shot out to seek him, but misfired and fell down limp fingers caressing the cold tiles.

"Please don't- Not yet. Just give me a few more minutes," he pleaded. Of course he knew what Owen planned, he was the smartest analyst alive how would he not see it? Owen nodded with a forced smile. "Thanks," he said, voice breaking.

"Is there anything I could do for you?" Owen asked, feeling shittier than ever. He didn't want to cry, it was not his time to grieve, but he failed. Jeffrey's hand, trembling, reached for Owen's cheek and stroked down a tear drop.

"Idiot," Jeffrey said fondly, voice shaking. Owen leaned closer and made a face, trying to be humorous. "You really don't get it, do you?" he asked voice soft, form exhaustion and from affection. Owen was not sure what he didn't get at that moment. Maybe Jeffrey wasn't afraid of death. Maybe he made peace. "I came here because of you." Oh. "I'm not stupid," he wheezed. "I was aware I wouldn't survive this trip." His smile was scary.

His finger was still caressing Owen's face, his touch was burning, just like the mug he held a few minutes ago.

"I just decided I'll be generous myself. I was always good with selfishness, childish possessiveness, wasn't I?" Owen's throat was closed, words, noises, tears welling up, but never coming out. Jeffrey reached for Owen's locks. "I know it's awful and I put all of you in danger, but I just wanted to see you." His gaze was the most focused since Owen found him on the field. "Just once more," he whispered hand playing with a curl from Owen's ginger hair crown.

It was fucking awful, it was the shittiest thing ever happened, period. He never wanted to see Jeffrey like this again. He almost laughed out loud, because he was not going to see Jeffrey ever again. No one was going to.

"It's embarrassing, isn't it?" Jeffrey asked, eyes playful, which was more terrifying then his back. "Falling for someone you always just wanted to make feel shitty about himself?" He curled a lock of Owen's hair around his finger then let it go. And again, and again. "I guess, this is how Karma works." He took a deep breath. "Well, if I believed in anything like that, it would be easier. As a worm or something I would be good enough to get another chance maybe. If would have another chance I swear I would do it differently," he looked back up to him, eyes desperate to prove it.

"I know," Owen leaned closer. "And don't be an idiot. You’re not a bad person. You never were. You acted a bit arrogant sometimes, I won’t deny that," he joked, but Jeffrey was not interested, his eyes flicker down to Owen's lips and Owen's words died on his tongue. He was the one who had to kill his friend and now it seemed he could final do something to ease the pain or…

Owen leaned in to put his lips to Jeffrey's. The other man let out a surprised noise, lips hardly moving just trembling. It was a weird kiss, Jeffrey's lips were dry, his body was without strength. Owen pulled away rather fast form the fear of suffocating Jeffrey. He sat back to his heels, looking at Jeffrey. He looked shocked, eyes glinting, mind not comprehending.

Owen felt like he should talk, he cleared his throat, but Jeffrey’s finger, still tangled in Owen's hair, tried to pull him close, lacking force, so Owen let it happen again, gave his aching heart to it, let it fill the blanks where his voice was unable to do it.

It would have been an exaggeration to say Jeffrey put much energy into it, but it was livelier, Jeffrey's breathing getting caught again, yet ignoring it, like he wanted to choke himself on Owen's lips.

Owen was crying now, silently, his face getting wet from tears and from Jeffrey's damp skin. He closed his eyes, maybe it was better that way, he could imagine he was kissing a strong and sassy Jeffrey from back in the days, where things weren't okay, far from it, but was better, just by a few shades. He pulled away when Jeffrey started to sound close to choking again, one hand still tangled in Jeffrey's hair, caressing his scalp, something he had no idea Jeffrey liked.

"You can-" Jeffrey started, nodding, eyes closed. Owen sniffled and turned back to check if his finger was at the correct switch and once again, for the last time pushed his lips to Jeffrey's, just for a second, before he ticked the switch. It was violently loud.

Jeffrey breathed out happily, his head fell to his arms, and smiled contently for the last time as Owen's finger caressed him, until his death came. Until Owen was silently weeping that he couldn't save him, that he failed once again, that he was not prepared. He was so mad at himself for letting Jeffrey go when he realised the man became a Knight. He should've done something there and then. But what was it worth now?

After a time he let go of Jeffrey's body and gathered himself. It was unnecessary to pester himself about the past. He had other stuff to do. He needed to bring down every one who swore loyalty to the Light by heart and not by force, because he was going to destroy the fucking Knights and not let them hurt anybody else. He had a job to do.

**Author's Note:**

> (Find me on [tumblr](http://answermywearyquery.tumblr.com/).)


End file.
